Lena learned quickly that captivity had a rhythm.
It wasn't the chains she'd imagined, or the dark basement rooms from the stories she'd heard growing up. Instead, it was silence. Order. Control so precise it felt suffocating.
The room she was kept in was large, too large to be merciful. Tall windows lined one wall, reinforced with steel bars disguised behind thick glass. The curtains were always open during the day, as if Dante wanted her to remember there was a world outside she could see but never touch.
She sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around herself, listening.
Footsteps approached.
She didn't flinch anymore.
That alone unsettled her.
The door opened without a knock.
Dante Russo walked in like he owned the air.
He wore black today, tailored, sharp, expensive. No weapon in his hands, but Lena had learned weapons were unnecessary for men like him. His presence was enough. Cold eyes swept the room before landing on her, unreadable as ever.
"Stand up," he said.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her shirt.
"No."
The word slipped out before she could stop herself.
For a moment, she wondered if she'd crossed a line she couldn't step back from.
Dante didn't react the way she expected.
He didn't shout. Didn't threaten. Didn't move.
Instead, his lips curved slightly, not a smile, not quite, more like interest.
"Rule one," he said calmly. "When I give an order, you follow it."
She lifted her chin. "Or what?"
Silence stretched between them.
Lena waited for the threat.
It didn't come.
Dante stepped closer instead, slow and deliberate, stopping just far enough that she could smell him, clean, expensive cologne layered over something darker. Danger.
"Or nothing," he said. "You'll learn."
That was worse.
Her pulse quickened as she stood, legs stiff but steady. She refused to let him see weakness. If this was a game, she wouldn't be the first to blink.
Dante studied her like a problem he was solving in his head.
"You eat when meals are brought," he continued. "You don't wander this house without permission. You don't speak to my men unless spoken to. You don't touch anything that isn't yours."
"And if I break a rule?" she asked.
His eyes flickered,not anger. Calculation.
"There will be consequences."
Again, no threat to her life.
Lena noticed.
It lodged in her mind like a splinter.
"You won't kill me," she said suddenly.
The room went still.
Dante's gaze sharpened, finally giving her something real to hold onto.
"Is that what you think?"
"I know it," she replied. "If you wanted me dead, I'd already be buried."
A slow breath left him.
"Rule two," he said. "Don't assume you understand me."
She almost laughed. Almost.
He turned away, walking toward the window as if the conversation bored him. "You're here because you're useful," he added. "As long as you are, you're alive."
Useful.
Not precious. Not innocent.
Just leverage.
Yet even as he said it, Lena felt the lie hiding underneath. She'd seen the way his eyes followed her when he thought she wasn't looking. The restraint in his movements, like something coiled tight beneath his skin.
He stopped at the door.
"One more thing," he said. "No escape attempts."
She smiled faintly. "And if I try?"
This time, he looked at her fully.
"You'll regret it."
The door closed behind him.
Lena exhaled shakily, sinking back onto the bed.
Her heart was pounding, not with fear alone, but something sharper. Awareness.
He hadn't threatened her life.
Not once.
Later that night, she lay awake listening to the house breathe.
Guards moved quietly in the hall. Somewhere below, a door opened and shut. Voices murmured, controlled, disciplined. Dante ran this place like a military operation.
She wondered what he was doing now.
Planning. Waiting.
Thinking about her.
The thought unsettled her more than the locked door.
She replayed the conversation in her head, every word, every pause. The way he'd looked at her when she challenged him, not furious, not amused.
Curious.
As if she were something new.
Lena rolled onto her side, staring at the ceiling.
This wasn't just revenge.
She didn't know what it was yet, but she knew one thing for certain.
Dante Russo was dangerous in ways her father had never warned her about.
And whatever game he was playing, she was already on the board.